Inside the mobile command trailer, Bernie practically tore the lid off the cooler before Kal-El had even set it completely on the floor.
"Lex might be a megalomaniac with a god complex, but his catering department is beyond reproach," Bernie groaned in pure, unadulterated joy, pulling out a foil-wrapped deli sandwich. "Pastrami. Actual, honest-to-god pastrami. I could weep."
Lois leaned against the metal frame of the doorway, keeping the exit clear—a habit born of survival she hadn't quite managed to shake. "Eat it before the heat turns the mustard. Lex said to tell you the new sensor relays will be dropped by helicopter tomorrow morning."
Kal-El stood near the center of the cramped trailer, his posture perfectly still - his strength and dense molecular structure in a smaller space with delicate equipment would always give him pause. He hadn't grown up here, comfortable with how he sun empowered his body and didn't occupy his space with his doppelgängers' ease. Here he wasn't learning not to scare people - so much as afraid of destroying the delicate equipment needed for the array.
He reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with a carefully metered fraction of his strength. He took a slow drink, his eyes scanning the telemetry data scrolling across Bernie’s monitors.
Lois watched him. It was a strange, grounding thing to observe. Kal-El could survive without sustenance and the desert condition did not affect him negatively at all, but the time working. with humanity he engaged in these rituals to make others comfortable. He wouldn't fake being human, but he didn't eschew the breaks.
His clone had taken up all the oxygen in a room, sprawling on thrones, demanding excess, gorging on the fear of his subjects. Kal-El, conversely, seemed determined to take up as little space as physically possible.
"The orbital tracking is stable," Kal-El noted, setting the water bottle on a reinforced steel desk. "Though I should adjust the focal lens on the western array. The thermal expansion from the afternoon sun is causing a microscopic refraction in the signal."
"You can do that after I finish this sandwich," Bernie said around a mouthful of rye bread. "If I have to watch you stare at a piece of glass until it melts while my stomach is growling, I'm going to quit."
The secure comms terminal on the far wall chirped, a harsh, synthesized tone that made Lois’s pulse jump. A green light began to flash rhythmically.
Bernie swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "That's the boss. Encrypted channel." He reached over and tapped the receiver.
The screen flickered to life, revealing Lex Luthor. He looked immaculate, sitting in his subterranean office in what remained of New Troy. His tailored suit and sharp, calculating gaze were a stark contrast to the dusty, sweat-soaked reality of the desert crew.
"Bernie. Lois," Lex greeted, his eyes flicking to the dark-haired man in the background. "And our resident sun-god. I see Lois successfully coaxed you out of the sandbox, Kal-El."
"He was just taking a water break, Lex," Lois said defensively, crossing her arms. "What's the situation? We weren't expecting a secure hail until tomorrow."
Lex’s faint smirk vanished, replaced by the grim pragmatism that had defined him since the invasion. "We have a political situation. The World Assembly has been slowly leaking the details of the Nightfall intercept. The footage of the lunar anchor was supposed to be the end of it, but instead, it’s birthed a conspiracy."
Kal-El stepped forward, his brow furrowing. "A conspiracy?"
"There is a growing faction—mostly remnants of the human resistance who didn't integrate into the rebuilding efforts—calling themselves the *Sons of Earth*," Lex explained, pulling up a secondary file on the screen. It showed shaky, handheld footage of a crowd protesting outside a reconstruction zone in Metropolis. They carried banners bearing a slashed-out crest of the House of El.
Lois felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "What are they saying?"
"They’re saying Nightfall was a false flag," Lex said bluntly. "They believe Kal-El summoned the asteroid, or at least fabricated the danger, to stage a rescue. They think it's a psychological operation to make humanity accept a Kryptonian overlord."
Kal-El looked as if he had been struck. He took a slow step back, the air suddenly seeming to leave his lungs. "I... I destroyed it. They saw the footage. They saw the recoil."
"They saw a man who looks exactly like the tyrant who enslaved them wielding apocalyptic power," Lex corrected, not unkindly, but with his usual brutal honesty. "Fear is what it is. cares that the 'conqueror' is back, and he's strong enough to move an asteroid."
"What do you need us to do?" Lois asked, her voice cutting through the rising tension in the trailer.
"They’re staging a massive rally tomorrow outside the provisional capitol building in New Troy. They are demanding that the Assembly use the red-radiation emitters to permanently neutralize Kal-El, or banish him from the solar system." Lex steepled his fingers, staring through the screen. "I need Kal-El in Metropolis."
Bernie choked on his water. "Are you insane? You want to parade him in front of a mob that wants his head?"
"I don't want a parade. I want a press conference," Lex countered. "If Kal-El stays in the desert, hiding in the shadows, he validates their fear. He becomes the invisible threat plotting in the dark. He needs to stand on a stage, unarmed, under the yellow sun, and let them see him."
"Lex, they could riot," Lois warned, her heart hammering. "All it takes is one person with a smuggled emitter and a gun."
"I will double the security detail," Lex said. "But he has to face them. It’s the only way to break the ghost of his clone."
The trailer fell dead silent, save for the rattling hum of the air conditioner. Lex and Lois both looked at Kal-El.
Kal-El was staring at his hands—the same hands that had turned the lunar bedrock to glass, the same hands that his clone had used to break the world. The phantom weight of a billion terrified souls pressed down on his shoulders.
"I will go," Kal-El said quietly.
"Kal," Lois started, stepping away from the door, the instinct to protect overriding her lingering trauma. "You don't have to be their punching bag."
Kal-El looked up, his blue eyes infinitely sad, but entirely resolute. "I am not going to be a punching bag, Lois. I am going to be a witness. They have a right to their anger. It is my face that haunts their sleep. I owe them the truth."
Lex nodded once, a gesture of profound, grudging respect. "I'll have a transport plane at the airstrip in two hours. Bring a suit, Kal-El. No armor. No crest."
"I understand," Kal-El said.
The screen blinked out.
Bernie looked at the half-eaten pastrami sandwich in his hand, his appetite completely gone. He tossed it into the trash. "Well. So much for a quiet week in the desert."
Lois looked at Kal-El. He was standing perfectly still, mentally preparing himself to walk into a crucible of human hatred. She remembered standing in this exact same posture, bracing herself before Lord Kal-El entered her quarters. The tragic symmetry of it made her chest ache.
"I'm coming with you," Lois said firmly.
Kal-El shook his head. "Lois, it could be dangerous. If the crowd turns violent—"
"If the crowd turns violent, they're going to have to go through the woman who actually survived the invasion," Lois interrupted, her tone brokering absolutely no argument. "Lex is right. Fear doesn't do logic. But it does recognize its own. If I can stand next to you, they'll have to ask themselves why. Besides, I think I can do what I want," this last on a note to remind him that she had reclaimed her free will.
Kal-El looked at her, seeing the fierce, unyielding courage that had made her a legend among the resistance. He swallowed hard, the tightness in his throat making it difficult to speak.
"Thank you, Lois."
She gave him a grim smile and nodded.
